


Sleeping with Agent Coulson

by tisfan



Series: Imagine Clint and Coulson prompts [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint still doesn't know, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sad Ending, stuffed animals, this annoys the author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Clint gets an enormous stuffed animal and names it after his (not-so)secret crush. (He may or may not cuddle it at nights...) And this of course leads to getting busted. :)





	

The first time Clint slept with Agent Coulson was after an op gone very, very wrong. They’d lost four junior agents and it was all Coulson could do to get the rest home. Clint had three broken ribs, a cracked occipital ridge, and whip cuts along his forearms and shoulders. And a broken nose, but honestly, his nose had been broken so many times, he barely noticed that one. 

Agent Coulson had been a joke; Nat had bought the stupidly large, very round, stuffed animal off a web site as a joke. She’d sat it in Coulson’s chair one time at a meeting (Phil had already said he was going to be late and asked Nat to cover for him with Fury. Instead, Nat has placed the gray stuffed chinchilla in Phil’s chair and then acted like absolutely nothing was wrong.) 

That had been hilarious, especially when the actual Coulson had arrived and took his place in the chair without comment. He’d merely moving the stuffed animal and dropping it in Clint’s lap without a word. 

Clint, not thinking much of it, had simply taken the stuffed animal back to his SHIELD barracks and left it there. 

Except four dead agents and the empty hollow look in Coulson’s eyes as he gave the report later… 

Clint took the stuffed animal off the shelf, wrapped his arms around it and tucked his face against the soft plush fur. 

And fell asleep. 

Clint got the best sleep of his adult life. 

*** 

Clint was working with Natasha on an undercover mission in São Paulo when she discovered that he’d kept the stuffed animal. 

“Really, Clint?” She stared at the animal when it rolled out of his suitcase. 

“It’s part of the undercover operation,” Clint snapped. “Who’d believe an international assassin would carry a stuffed animal with him.” 

Nat just gave him that Look. 

*** 

Even when Loki had pressed Clint into service, had spun into his mind and pulled out everything that gave him a soul and replaced it with Loki’s will, Clint made time to swing by his quarters and grab the stuffed animal. 

It was worn, the fur somewhat matted, and the fact that it had once been perfectly round was no longer the case; Clint had slept on it too many times for that; now Agent Coulson was a little squashed on one side. 

*** 

Coulson’s funeral. Clint had barely been able to make himself go. He should have been there, damnit. He should have been at Coulson’s side. He should have… 

Agent Coulson’s fur was very damp that night. And for several more nights running. 

*** 

Clint didn’t dare sleep with Agent Coulson any longer. The animal was worn out, seams had popped and been repaired. One eye was barely hanging on by a thread. 

Agent Coulson stayed on Clint’s bedside table at the Avenger’s Tower. And no one, not even the Hulk, dared to touch him. 

*** 

Wakanda was nice enough, Clint guessed. It had a lot less bars on the windows and guards that took a malicious joy in smacking him around with a shock baton. 

It was hot. The rooms T’Challa had provided were small, although Clint had lived in smaller, and undecorated. Without access to any of his funding, Clint wasn’t able to update that. T’Challa was more than generous, but he wasn’t that generous. T’Challa wasn’t Stark. (Clint was greatly conflicted about that; Stark was the face, the representative for everything that had gone wrong, but in his darker hours, of which he had many, Clint was willing to admit that he’d been warned. He hadn’t expected it to play out the way that it did.) 

At breakfast, Clint was greeted with a curt, “You have received a package.” One of the Dora Milaje accompanied the servant, but she didn’t speak. That was normal, if creepy. The Dora Milaje didn’t speak to anyone except T’Challa or each other. But the renegade Avengers were considered dangerous guests and the guards accompanied every Wakandan who was required to interact with them. Just in case they should go more extreme and more violent. 

Clint supposed that was fair. 

The box was already open -- also fair, but annoying. There weren’t that many people who knew where the renegades were; those who did were also dangerous. It wouldn’t have shocked T’Challa at all if someone decided to attempt to eliminate them. Or T’Challa for harboring them. Or any of a dozen other things. 

What was inside the box was Agent Coulson; a little worse the wear than he’d ever been, but still, recognizable. Smelling faintly of the Avenger’s Tower and a little bit of coffee and motor oil. 

_You left this behind.  
_ _\-- the futurist_


End file.
